I work best alone and my company being silence and clocks ticking. With somebody in the next room or perhaps just somebody breathing next to me. I’m very boring and rather quiet and prefer to stay indoors over outdoors any time. When I go out, I just like to walk around hearts of cities or along bodies of water and take pictures without trying to look like anything. I’m so boring sometimes I’m worried no boy will ever love me.
If I ever told anyone that she left me without saying goodbye, then I lied. She said goodbye to me so many times before she actually left. We were on our way home during the night. It was dark, the road was empty, the only noises we heard were the ones coming from the car. “I wish I could write my own lyrics,” she said. “But you do.” “I know I do, but not good ones.” “The lyrics you write are wonderful. What are you talking about?” “But they’re not things I actually want to say.” “What is it you wanted to say?” She put on this song from a CD and I don’t remember which song because I’ve never heard it before. If the stars shined brighter than the moon, maybe it’d be okay to leave you, but life is not that way, I have to stay. “But I don’t get,” I said as I looked at her in the passenger seat, but she was not looking at me. She was looking outside the window a thousand miles away from this car, this city, this state. I let it go, didn’t think twice about it because she didn’t mean that it was what she wanted to say; she meant it was something she wanted to write because it was so beautiful. She wanted to fly kites one day. She had one buried in her attic and we went. “This is my childhood,” she told me, “The only thing I liked about it actually.” She always spoke of her childhood as if she hated it, but she didn’t. I know she didn’t. It was really windy that day, perfect for flying kites, but you had to hold onto it tightly. I watched her fly her kite. Her kite was high up in the air when she began to speak her language of riddles. “Don’t you wish you can just let go of everything and have it fly away? I mean, fuck everything. We look at this sky but we can never see all of it. Fuck that. I’m tired of looking at just this piece of sky! I want to forget everything.” And she let go of the kite. It flew and flew away with the wind. I looked at her and again, she wasn’t looking at me, but far far away. When she said forget everything, I thought she meant her childhood; I would have never thought she meant me. She wanted to go swimming so we went to the lake. I watched her swim a bit and shortly fell asleep. When I awoke, she was not there. She was not anywhere. She did this a lot, hid from me. Why couldn’t I have already known it was a sign that she was always going to be hiding from me? I jumped in the water and stayed under and when I came up, she was there. “I thought you weren’t going to come back,” I said. “What if I didn’t?” I should have told her that my only wish in this world ever and forever was for her to always come back to me and never leave. Never leave me, but I didn’t. I couldn’t solve this riddle and even if I did, it would always be too late. She was going to leave me no matter what I said or what I did because that’s who she is. Someone who couldn’t stay and even if she was, she was going to hate everything anyways. The day before she left, I was sleeping. I was half-asleep when she said these very words, “I love you so much you will never understand, but I have to go. I have to go and be those pretty lyrics, I have to catch my kite, and I have to swim oceans or else I will never be anything.” She kissed me and she was off. I thought I was dreaming, but of course I wasn’t dreaming because even in my dreams, she would always come back. But now I was living in this nightmare and it was never going to end. It never ends.
You know how they say we never really know how much we have an impact on the people in our lives? And not even the people in our lives, but I’m talking about just somebody on the street, or class or anything else you can think of? I think of myself. I am so affected by everything around me. The light that kisses me good morning, the boy that looks at me in class, and somebody on the street not looking forward, but off to side—all of it means something to me. And maybe I could mean something to somebody anybody that just sees me. Making an impact isn’t much because some people are impacted by everything. I just want my existence to mean something.
I love them because how could you not love the things that kept you there? Kept you standing, trying, and believing? There are that to me. They make me love the thing I don’t by just being beside me. They keep me there. If I were a roof, they were the wall. If I were a wave, they were the wind. If I were earth, they were gravity. And I love them. I love them so much. How can I not? Saying goodbye would hurt nobody but me because I’m loving them while they’re putting up with me.
I live in one of the most diverse places in the world and I take it for granted. I’m in love with all the different kinds of people. I love listening to them speak, how they talk to each other, how they solve problems—I’m so captivated by how different people act.
This week I’ve been surrounded by these group of kids and I can’t say I don’t like them because I like them so much. They’re not the smartest kids and they don’t speak intelligently, but the more I’m around them, the more I believe in them. The more they grow on me. And I want them so badly just to be successful because I can see that in them.
One of the things I like about myself is that I just don’t judge people. I keep an open mind and that changes me so much. I’m in love with people, more than I dislike them. Really observing people and giving them chances just makes me a better person.
I don’t know who I’m going to be. One day I’ll just be tired. Tired of it all. I’ll find comfort and sleep with the things that kill me. I won’t care as long as it makes me forget. I just want to forget. All of my friends around me don’t know what’s going on in this head. Neither does my family. Do I know what goes on in this head? I hate the things that go on around me. Well, not really, because all things are beautiful. But sometimes I just want to be myself and not get laughed at or even looked at. I want to be invisible and only visible to those who I want to see me. I want to be myself and not be worried about it. Let me dance, let me sing, let me stay quiet, I don’t want you to look at me. Just let me listen, let me nod, let me stand in peace. I’m going to be tired. I’m going to be tired of trying, of quitting, of not wanting to try neither quit. I’m going to be tired of the people around me. I’m going to find peace in the things that will kill me.
I was absolutely inspired by how an idea turns into a building. There’s just so much to it. Every step, every detail. There are so many details it’s unbelievable. The plans they have to make. I loved the plans and how and what they figure out to change to make better. The buildings on the wall—malls inspired by earthquakes and dragons. Every little change changes the whole entire concept and it’s beautiful. Architecture is wonderful.
I wrote this around 11 something
San Francisco gives me this feeling I can only believe it’s what being in love feels like. I’m in love with San Francisco. Being there gives me this indescribable feeling—like some place somewhere everything is beautiful and perfect and even though there are flaws, it is still perfect for me. And even though it’s cold and windy, my heart is warm and my mind is at peace. San Francisco is everything I could ever want.
But something is pulling me to stay in my hometown and I know what it is. San Jose is my life, my whole life. Every second and minute of it all. I could be in New York City and still be in San Jose because that is where my heart is, my mind, my life. But in New York City, everything is perfect because I don’t see anything. I don’t see the ugly of it all. All of the ugly is in San Jose. The high school that made me feel lonely, my best friend’s old house, the one who took me out of her life like a rose in a field full of weeds, the house I’ve spent my sad childhood in—it’s all there in my home city. It’s here. In New York City, what do I get? I get strangers in different clothing, I get skyscrapers that blow my mind, I get food that give me a culinary orgasm. How can I ever ruin it by living there? How can I ruin it by starting a life and letting people in my life and having them destroy me?
I’m in love San Francisco, but how can I take away my love for the city by living there? How can I wake up there every single morning and not get used to its beauty and eventually have it fall away? How can I allow myself to ever hate it one day?
Pictures of you and I can hear your voice. You’re seventeen now and I loved you when you were eleven. I remember all of it. Your voice completely hidden now after you went through puberty. The voice I’ll never hear again only in my memories. Not even a hint of it in your voice now. Your laugh that made it so impossible not to laugh once you’ve heard it. A laugh that can cure all types of sadness in the world and make everything happy even if it was only for a second. I miss you so much.
